


A Harbor in the Tempest

by stophookingatmeswan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan AU - Freeform, F/M, One Shot Collection, captain swan fluff, captain swan smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:05:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7442101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stophookingatmeswan/pseuds/stophookingatmeswan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Captain Swan one-shots</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bed Head

**Author's Note:**

> A smuffy (mostly fluff) story inspired by Season 6 set pics of Killian’s shorter hair

Those first few nights, home and in their bed - and, most importantly  _in her arms_  - he was restless. Tossing, turning, taking forever to fall into a fitful slumber. He’d wake up with the sheets twisted around his ankles, a wild look in his eyes and hair sticking up as if he’d been trying to pull it out in his sleep.

She would coax him into her arms, lay his head on her chest and run her hands over his hair to put it back in place. Hair that she’d seen snarled and matted with his own blood, spilled at the will of a vengeful god, and soaking the strands that now slipped through her fingers like silk. 

He sat on a chair in the kitchen, a towel fastened around his neck. Freshly showered and beard tamed, he chuckled and pulled one of her hands to his mouth, pressing his lips to the back of it. The prickliness of his scruff scraped, but she didn’t mind. 

“I can hear your nerves, love. Stop thinking about it and just do it.”

She bit her lip. “I told you I’ve never done this before.” She picked up the comb again, running it through the too-long hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Swan, I trust you. And, as you said, it would take more than an act of the gods to ruin this amount of handsome. Now cut.”

And cut she did. Small snips at first until she became more sure of herself, but still  _oh, so careful_  as she folded over the elfin tips of his ears to trim around them. He’d wink at her or cock an eyebrow, willing her to smile, but otherwise sat still as she worked.

When she was finished, she walked around him slowly with critical consideration. Not too shabby for her first haircut, but he’d been right - she’d be hard pressed to ruin such a canvas. Stopping in front of him, she bent slightly so they were nose to nose and moved her hands to his temples, sliding her fingers through the strands there and gently tugging to check for evenness. Smoothing back what she had pulled, she started to move away but he caught her eye. 

Then it was his turn to bury his fingers in her hair as she slid onto his lap, their kiss slow and deep. The towel was the first to go, a sprinkling of dark hair littering the floor even more. Then it was her sweatshirt and his bottoms, her panties and his boxer briefs. Rocking together in the moonlight, she draped her arms around his neck, running her blunt nails through his shortened hair as he moved inside her. 

She came with her back arched so much her blonde tresses tickled his thighs, his name on her lips and tears she couldn’t explain stinging her eyes. He followed, whispering an oath of his love in the moonlight. He  _looked_  the same now,  _felt_  the same but  _they_  were different. 

Better. Stronger. Together.  _Forever._


	2. The Day Has Eyes, The Night Has Ears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some meet cute fluff with some Emma Swan badassery thrown in for good measure.

He heard her before he saw her. 

“Ruby, I know I need to get over him, but is a man-bashing night out where we get drunk, talk shit and flirt with bar cretins really the best idea?” 

It was damn close to how he felt getting dragged along to another one of Will’s embarrassingly juvenile Bros Before Hos outings now that his friend was single once more after three whole weeks of dating the same woman. Not that Killian Jones was above drinking, trash talking or flirting that on occasion turned into a one-night stand. But as he got older - closer to the ripe old age of 23 - the cycle of beer and broads was losing its luster. 

His face brought plenty of attention; his charm and accent even more. He wasn’t short on potential women, but he was short on patience watching even his closest friends play a game of cat and mouse week after week. 

Killian turned toward the scoffing tone, but all he was able to catch a glimpse of in the crowd were blonde curls and a red dress being towed behind dark hair featuring crimson tips and a black miniskirt paired with dangerously high heels. 

****

He heard her before he saw her. 

Midnight karaoke brought all manner of musical taste and singing talent to the stage, fueled by liquid courage. Killian had already winced through a pack of carbon copy frat boys wearing polo shirts and Sperrys yelling their way through Flo Rida’s “My House,” Will’s rendition of Color Me Badd’s “I Wanna Sex You Up” as he made eyes at Miss Good Enough For Right Now in the front row, and some poor sap who was booed off the stage for trying to bust out with some Justin Bieber. He was just about ready to slap Robin on the shoulder and bid him a good night when the fourth performance was underway but the lyrics stopped him. 

_Am I gonna miss you?_

_Hell no!_

_Baby watch me up and go_

_Mama said that the boys like you_

_Never work out anyway_

_My girlfriends say are you gonna be sad_

_If he calls you up, you gonna take him back?_

_I said Hell no, oh Hell no!_

Her voice was slightly off-key and just a touch too loud, tinged with alcohol and anger, but Jesus, _that face_. And that body. He tore his eyes away from her to survey the crowd. Her fellow scorned women held their cocktail glasses up in solidarity and almost every man in the place, whether they had a lady by their side or not, was giving her the once-over.

Not that he could blame them. He turned his attention back and let his eyeballs take their fill. The whole package was certainly nice – the hair and the tight dress that left little to the imagination. Toned arms, shapely calves and, as she turned to the side, an ass he wouldn’t mind getting his hands on. But it was the smile that she shot her friends when the song was over and the way she threw her head back and laughed when the crowd cheered that had him wanting more.

****

He heard her before he saw her. 

“Get the fuck away from me!” 

Killian was outside the bar getting some air and waiting for his Uber. Robin and Will had offered to drop him off at the apartment they shared on their way to an after party with two girls they’d met. Neither in the mood to extend his night, nor be a third wheel, he told them he would get his own ride. He’d been outside for twenty minutes waiting on a driver who swore he’d only be ten when he heard the commotion. 

“Emma, come on. I just want to talk.” 

Killian peeked around the corner of the alley and saw her standing by the side door with a man. 

“I have nothing to say to you.” 

“I gathered that based on the fact that I’ve left you twenty voicemails and you can’t be bothered to return my calls. Or my texts.” The guy’s voice was getting louder. “And now I find out that you’re out with your friends at a bar, letting assholes buy you drinks. What – are you going to go home with one of them? Fuck around on me?” 

Her laugh was loud and held no warmth or humor. “I’m fucking around? Me? When I caught you IN BED with your professor’s teaching assistant?” 

“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!” His fists were clenched, face red as he screamed, taking a step too close to her for Killian’s liking. What sealed the deal was when she went to walk away and that fucker grabbed her arm and spun her to face him, grabbing her face. Hard.

 “Hey!” Killian’s voice boomed in the alleyway, but before he could make it even halfway to them to intervene, the guy was on the ground, wheezing and gagging with her standing over him. 

“Listen, jackass. I don’t know how your dick accidentally falls into a vagina that isn’t attached to your girlfriend, but I’m not buying that or any other of your bullshit. I don’t care if you walked in on me blowing a group of guys in the bar bathroom. What I do is none of your damn business because I broke up with your stupid ass. Got it? We are not together. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. And if you ever touch me again, you won’t be choking because I punched you. You’ll be choking because I ripped your balls off and shoved them down your throat.” 

The side door of the bar opened and her friends spilled out into the narrow space. They crowded around her, worry turning into oaths of relief when they saw the figure prone across the narrow space. As they ushered her inside, she turned back to him just for a split second. 

**** 

He heard her before he saw her. 

“Thanks for trying to help back there.”

The curls were now up in a ponytail, eye liner and mascara a little worse for the wear. 

“I heard the commotion from the street. It looks like you had things pretty well handled.” 

She leaned against the wall, blowing out a breath. “Yeah, I’m used to taking care of myself. Kind of a ‘nobody saves me but me’ thing.”

“I can see that. Quite impressive, actually.”

She shrugged. “Comes with the territory.” She didn’t elaborate and it made his blood boil to think that lout in the alley had put his hands on her before, even if she could handle herself. 

“Do you often just barely miss the opportunity to be someone’s knight in shining armor or do you often lurk in the dark?” 

Killian scratched behind his ear. “Uh, no. I’m afraid I was stood up by my Uber driver.” He took out his phone and checked his notifications. “Neal with the 4.6 rating was supposed to be here 15 minutes ago.” 

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.” 

He looked up, confused as to why she’d be apologizing. 

She gestured to the alley. “I kind of kicked your driver’s ass. Although now it makes sense how he found me here. He must have seen my car parked in the lot. Come on, I’ll give you a ride.” 

Killian started to follow, then stopped. “I don’t mean to, um – thank you, but you were just accosted by someone in a dark alley. Shouldn’t your stranger danger level be on high alert?” 

She turned to face him. Her heels were so high they were eye-to-eye, blue to green. She stuck out her hand. 

“Emma Swan. You’re Something Jones.” 

He cocked an eyebrow, surprised, as he took her hand and shook it. “Killian. I’m certain if we’d met before, I would have remembered, lass.” 

Emma jutted her chin in the direction of the parking lot and started walking again. “Your friend Will enjoyed a weekend at my apartment once.” 

“Excuse me?” He felt like a puppy trotting after her. 

“My friend Ruby hooked up with him last winter. You came to pick him up at our apartment and introduced yourself to her.” She gestured to a yellow VW Beetle. “This is me.” 

She unlocked his door, then walked around to get in the driver’s seat. Heels were unceremoniously kicked off and tossed over her shoulder into the back seat as he gave her directions to his apartment. 

“How did you know it was me?” The thought that he’d been a few feet away from Emma Swan months ago was both intriguing and maddening. 

“The accent. Not a whole lot of English roses transplanted into a depressingly small college town outside of Boston.” She turned the car on and checked her side mirror, pulling out into traffic. “And your ass.” 

“ _What??”_ He turned to look at her. She was grinning, eyes on the road but illuminated by the reflection of headlights in the rearview. 

“What do you mean, _what_? The accent is hot. I may or may not have peeped out the window to see if the face matched, but all I caught was you walking away.” 

He caught the flirty tone in her voice and looked her face over carefully to avoid being the second idiot whose ass she kicked in the wee hours of the morning. 

“Is that so? Well, now you’ve had a look at the goods, darling. Like what you see?”

She pulled her eyes from the road for a split second, made a show of looking him over and didn’t say anything for a moment. It was unnerving and he rubbed suddenly sweaty palms on his thighs. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The way she said it made it sound both intriguing and like a challenge. 

Killian looked out the window as she pulled up to his building, wishing he lived four towns over just to be able to spend more time in her presence. Looking back at her, he cocked his head. 

“Perhaps I would.” He unfolded himself from the confines of her car and leaned back in the door. “Thanks for the ride.” 

Emma gave him a little wave. 

He closed the door and headed up the walkway to the lobby door, willing himself to keep cool and not turn back around to watch longingly as she drove away. 

**** 

He heard her before he saw her. 

“Buy me a drink, sailor?” 

A veritable hurricane of blonde, boots and red leather hurled itself onto the bar stool next to him. 

Killian leaned over and dropped a kiss on her cheek, humming when she turned his head and pressed her lips to him. The kiss went from chaste to filth, ending all too soon for his liking. 

“Easy, tiger. We have all night for that.” She signaled to the bartender, ordering a rum and Coke – his influence – and turned toward him, sliding her knees against his as she took over the footrest on his bar stool. When her drink came, she raised her glass to him. “Happy anniversary.” 

Killian chuckled, clinking his own glass against hers. 

“To many more.” 

As she drank, he slid his hand over the small velvet box in his pocket. _To many, many more._


	3. A Love That Blinds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All fluff, high school aged Captain Swan

Huddled by a bonfire built to enormous heights and with all the guys taking turns quoting Tom Hanks in _Castaway_ – _“I have made fire!”-_ Emma Swan swiped through the day’s pictures on her phone. She was the unofficial group photographer, always snapping candids and huddling everyone together for a picture. 

If someone had told her two years ago when she was standing on the doorstep of the Nolan home in Storybrooke that this was it, this was her forever, she wouldn’t have believed them. Too many homes and too many broken promises. too many _what ifs_ and _if only we coulds_. She’d had nothing but a backpack holding some clothes and a small box that contained tokens and what Emma had always considered the totality of her sentimentality.

But now she had a family. Friends. A motely crew, really. Regina and Robin, polar opposites but they somehow bridged the gap between her big city dreams and his love of the outdoors to make it work. Ruby, the wild child. Belle, the bookworm. Mulan and Aurora, newly minted as a couple. David, Emma’s brother, and Mary Margaret. She wore a small promise ring because even at the age of eighteen, they both just _knew_. 

Recently, the group had been reduced by one. Neal’s infidelity had not only cost him his relationship with Emma three months before but the one with his friends as well. Even though he’d been in the group since middle school, they ostracized him and closed ranks around her. She’d felt broken at the time after two years of being with Neal, so similar to other times when someone turned out to not be someone other than who’d she thought, but her friends had been the glue to hold her together. 

Emma had hundreds of photographs of them, all carefully catalogued by date and occasion on her laptop. Far from crafty and with little patience for the pottery and painting classes Mary Margaret reluctantly dragged her to, she’d found a hobby in scrapbooking. The girl who’d never before belonged finally did, and the rows of albums on the shelves in her room were a testament to that. 

Perusing her snapshots of the day, sun and sand giving way to sunset and sweatshirts, she stopped on one in particular. 

_Killian._

He’d been there since the beginning, first as David’s best friend and then her own. Emma knew he’d wanted more, the beautiful boy with the dark hair and blue eyes she swore could see down into her soul. He breathed and bled devotion, and for a sixteen-year-old who had just found her place in the world it was too much. Lacking finesse as per usual, when Mary Margaret asked about the time Emma had been spending with him, she’d blurted out, “There is no me and Killian” loud enough or him to hear. She’d caught the devastation on his face before he could school his features and expected their burgeoning friendship to end. 

It hadn’t. He had respected that she was with Neal and made sure no lines were crossed as they became confidants and competitors; fierce friends that pushed each other to be better and do better. He challenged her to open up and she challenged him to grow up – to let go of the recklessness that fueled his every move. That didn’t mean she wasn’t aware of the occasional longing glance or the gravity of his mumbled “I love you” as she dragged him into his room drunk after their last New Year’s party.

Now she was sitting on the beach, an extra layer of protection from the chilly night air courtesy of his leather jacket, lost in thought as she ran her fingertip down a photograph she’d taken a short while before. He was sitting on a stump of driftwood on the other side of the bonfire, bare feet in the sand and a guitar balanced on his knee. The rolled up sleeves of his flannel showed the flex of his forearm as he played, the light from the flames highlighting his cheekbones and jawline as he softly sang, she knew, to her. 

_“You’ve been my queen_

_For longer than you’ve known_

_My love for you has been_

_Every step I take, every day I live, everything I see.”_  

 

“Swan.” 

Emma was jostled as Killian sat down heavily on the log beside her, throwing an arm around her shoulders. She juggled her phone, tucking it up into the too-long sleeve of his jacket so he wouldn’t see she’d been looking at a picture of him. 

“Jones.” She nudged into him and looked up at the sky. “Beautiful night.” 

“Not as beautiful as you.” 

To anyone else’s ears, it may have sounded like a cheesy line. Killian had been the first boy to tell her she was beautiful. It had been outside their school as they waited to buy tickets to a dance. He’d said it with such conviction, like there was no room for argument. And he hadn’t stopped saying it the exact same way since. When she was dressed up for prom on Neal’s arm. When her hair was piled on top of her head, the thick black glasses she’d rather die than allow most people to see her wearing perched on her nose during an all-night study session. When she was wheezing after gym class, arms raised because she’d beat his personal record for running the mile. When her eyes were puffy from crying, face red after she’d caught her boyfriend cheating and wondered if it was because she wasn’t pretty enough. 

Emma turned, looking at his profile in the firelight. Later, she would realize what had compelled her to lean in and first kiss his cheek, then press her lips to his when he turned his head in surprise.

The fear was gone. It was love.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based off of the latest CS sneak peek for Season 6. If you're staying spoiler-free, please come back after Sunday's airing. xoxo

This was it.

The quiet moment they’d been waiting for, bequeathed to them by the gods and long overdue. 

His booted feet followed her up the steps to the expansive front porch of the house - their house - the one he’d selected and then forgotten, envied and left angry. Emma slipped a key from her pocket and handed it to him, stepping aside and motioning to the door.

“Will you do the honors?”

Killian reached for the key, hesitating only a moment before taking it, Emma’s encouraging smile and nod propelled him forward. Metal scraped on metal and he heeded her suggestion to jiggle the handle a little before the tumblers clicked. When he pulled the key out and offered it back to her on a flat palm, she curled his fingers around it and raised his hand to kiss his knuckles.

“That one is yours.”

He nearly choked on the string of emotions rising inside of him; love for her, honor that she’d chosen him, devotion to this life they were forging together, and readiness for everything it would bring. 

Stepping aside, Killian dramatically waved his hand and bowed, ushering a giggling Emma into the house before him as he slid the key into his pocket.

Not a day would go by that he would not welcome the sound of her laughter.

Or the sight of her ass in those jeans.

As he walked into the house behind her, and closed the door the emotion of the moment gave way to the sudden realization they were alone. All alone. Henry was with Regina. The latest crisis over, the newest villain defeated. The weight of so many almosts and not quites came crashing down on him and before he knew it, Killian was overwhelmed. Needed her. Wanted her. Had to have her. 

In a split second she was spinning, back hitting the door, crowded against it by a wild-eyed pirate. Storming blue searched emerald green, looking for an indication that this wasn’t the time. 

There was none.

His mouth descended upon hers, hot and insistant, the scrape of nails on his scalp and the swipe of tongue against his lips. He could scarcely breathe, yet she felt like air, filling his lungs and bleeding into his veins. Knees bending, hand and hook pulled her ass away from the door just enough to lift her and Emma’s legs anchored around his waist. He began a slow, dirty grind that had her gasping and his cock swelling, her head thrown back to allow him access to the column of her throat and the expanse of skin exposed by the v-neck sweater she wore. Nipping and licking, giving a little pain with her pleasure. It was too much and not enough.

“Hold on, love.” 

With one hand anchored around his arm, the other pulled paisley and leather aside to reveal the hollow of his collarbone, giving Emma just enough room to fuse her wet, open mouth to the juncture of his neck and shoulder. It made him impossibly harder and there was no way he was going to make it to one of the bedrooms in this infernally large home.

Killian settled for laying her down in the same spot she’d used magic to heal his wounds in the sitting room off the entrance, and knelt over her. He kissed her, slowly and reverently, just the lightest of touches. Knuckles brushed against the juncture of her thighs as his hand slipped down into his waistband to adjust himself and Emma keened, the sound going straight to the hardened flesh in his hand. 

“That’s it, darling. What would it take to hear that lovely sound once more?”

Face already flushed and with a becoming splash of pink making its way down to her chest, Emma smirked at him, a flash of pink tongue running over her upper lip. He followed it with his eyes and fought the urge to beg her to take him into her mouth, bringing his hand up to tease the lace peeking out of her maladjusted sweater.

“I’m sure you can figure it out. Captain.” 

She breathed the last part into his ear and, to borrow one of Emma’s most colorful colloquialisms, he fucking lost it.

Cursing the fact that he hadn’t mapped out their tumble with more thought and, for the first time since their tragically singular date, the fact that he only possessed one hand, Killian shifted over her, attempting to balance himself on his braced arm and slip a hand between her legs only to teeter precariously on the edge of the settee. The sudden jarring movement pushed him against her in the most interesting of ways and there it was again - that sound.

Settling himself in the cradle between her legs, he experimented. A thrust here. A dip of his hips and exquisite drag there. It didn’t take long before Emma was writhing beneath him, hands slipped into the back pockets of his jeans to guide his movements just so. A particular, abrupt movement produced an arch to her back reminiscent of her namesake and Killian knew he’d found it. That perfect spot. The one he’d happily settle between her knees to tease and lave another time.

Grasping the arm of the settee above her head for leverage, he rocked against her, building them both to heights previously unexplored. When her legs started to shake, Killian whispered in her ear.

“Come now, love. Come for me.”


	5. The Princess and Her Protector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pirate/knight smut prompt from Tumblr

“Did you think you could slip away from my stand-in so easily, Princess?” 

The voice, dark and authoritative, broke the peace of the clearing and Emma startled, nearly dropping her basket of wildflowers. She looked up with what she hoped was an appropriate amount of surprise in the event he’d brought company along to search for the oft-wayward princess yet again, her face betraying none of the elation she felt inside when she saw he was alone. 

Given the task of ensuring Princess Emma’s safety and security at all hours, Killian Jones of the Knights of Misthaven had quickly discovered why his predecessors had all but begged the crown for a different appointment. She was prone to disappearing acts, and this wasn’t the first time he’d found her miles from the castle, unaccompanied, completely safe and, by the looks of it, wholly unbothered. 

Unnaturally broad in armor, her father’s chief cavalier stood before her after fourteen days gone on a peacekeeping mission, irritation radiating off of his head-to-toe regalia of servitude that made him more imposing than usual. 

“So it would seem, Sir Killian.” 

 Dragging his helmet off, Killian held it at his side, grateful to be rid of the heavy burden and surveyed his princess. Lips pinked and cheeks rouged, Emma lifted her chin slightly in his direction, a rare display of haughtiness. She looked every inch the embodiment of royalty in a furred cloak and richly layered fabrics, hair silken thanks to the efforts of the nightly brushing by a handmaiden. 

Emma returned to her daffodils, seeking out the heartiest of stems and relishing their crisp snap under her fingertips. She moved about freely, the drag of her skirts proving more cumbersome as she moved to the edges of the wild flowerbeds, close to the dense cover of trees. Distracted by the task of recklessly tearing her underskirt when it became stuck on a branch after a messy attempt to step over a fallen log, she didn’t hear him come up behind her until it was too late.

Straightening just in time to feel the hard, warm lines of him, divested of armor, against her back, Emma’s breath caught as a hand came around and toyed with the jeweled brooch holding her cape in place before long fingers curled around her neck. 

“It took longer to find you this time, love.” 

His tone was softer but no less commanding and it made her knees tremble, as did the light press of his fingers at her throat. “A man could go mad with want.”

And mad for her he was. She was his one weakness, an unyielding vice of an otherwise ascetic man. Regimented, disciplined and married to his duties to king and country, Killian had spent years foregoing the pleasures that brought the fellows in his knighthood to their knees: women, drink, the seeking of riches. It was his dedication to the kingdom that earned him the spot outside Princess Emma’s bedchamber door and the responsibility to remain her sworn protector. 

It was she for whom he risked it all. 

The dress Emma had chosen that morning showed no hint of skin, even when she unfastened the brooch and let cream colored fur slip off her shoulders and tumble to the forest floor, and Killian drank in what little he could reach standing behind her. He licked and nipped at the spot below her ear, teeth sinking into tender, lily-white flesh with more force than intended when she reached back, cupping him through his uniform trousers. 

“Easy, tiger.” The words teased as much as Emma’s stroking fingers and she giggled when his hips canted forward seeking more of her touch. 

“My apologies,” he breathed into her ear with no hint of actual penance, swiping golden strands away to survey the damage, closing his eyes in a silent prayer of thanks when there was none; there could be no lingering signs of their illicit affair. Killian turned Emma, pressing into her bodily against a tree, nose brushing hers just before he kissed her thoroughly and deeply until she was gasping for air. “Although under different circumstances, I can’t say I’d be sorry. I’d mark every inch of you as mine. Would you like that, Princess? A little pain with your pleasure?” 

The question was rhetorical. Time was never on their side, even miles from the castle, and stolen moments were often rushed. It was during a quick tryst in her bedchambers months before under the shadow of night where an overly eager Killian couldn’t untangle his hand from her hair quick enough to avoid inadvertently pulling on it. The sound she made gave him pause and inspiration for a second quick tug, his desire to please her warring with his sense of good form. 

All of his hesitations had melted away since, unable to give Emma anything less than her heart’s desire, even if it was to fulfill her whispered wishes for him to fuck her, _harder, more please, again_ , his name gracing her lips as she fell apart around him. 

Less inhibited now, Killian made quick work of lifting Emma’s skirts, nimble fingers dancing over the smooth skin of her thighs just above the ribbons holding up her stockings. She cupped his chin, forcing him to look her in the eyes, appearing to anticipate what he’d do next. He didn’t think he disappointed, either in the fingers that moved to where she was wet and wanting or his reaction to finding her completely bare.

“You’ll be the death of me, Emma. Leaving the castle without so much as a stitch of clothing under your gown,” he growled, slipping a finger inside and curling it, moving in shallow thrusts until her eyes closed and her head snapped back against the tree. He watched her face, the fluttering of her lashes and the way she bit her lip, wishing for the millionth time he could lay her down on a bed – their bed, if he was allowing himself to dream – and take his time worshipping her.

Neither their circumstances nor her patience lent themselves to that scenario.

He protested when she took his wrist, pulling his hand away from her and switching their positions, sinking onto a bed of fallen leaves in front of him. Emma knew that of all the intimate acts they shared, taking him into her mouth to lick and lave caused him the most guilt. _It’s whore’s work_ he’d said the first time, and that no princess should be on her knees in front of a member of the king’s court. She’d laughed at his unintended joke and made him blush further by wrapping her lips around his cock, taking him in deeply, his protests dying before they could catch any more air.

It was easier to watch - now that he knew she loved giving nearly as much as he loved receiving - as Emma unfastened his trousers, pulling his thickened, heavy cock out. Licking the full length of the underside, she looked up at him expectantly, a challenge in her eyes. She’d been working on wearing him down, chipping away at his natural, bone-deep restraint and Killian smiled down at her wickedly before tangling his hands in her hair and giving an experimental thrust with his generous length. A few strokes of her fist and Emma’s hands went behind her back, leaving him to take what he (and she) both wanted.

“That’s it, princess. As much as you can handle down that pretty throat of yours.” Killian rocked into her, the warm, wet slide of her mouth around him almost more than he could take after half a month’s time outside the kingdom and in the company of men. He knew he was bordering on carelessness as his hips moved quickly, a near-rote apology on the tip of his tongue at his boldness until he saw Emma’s hand slip between her thighs. His eyes darted between her face and the near-hidden hand, fingers tightening on the golden strands as he raced far too near to the precipice thanks to the tandem work of touch and visual.

Killian abruptly pulled himself out of her mouth and pulled Emma to her feet, bringing her slick fingertips to his mouth, lightly kissing them before swirling his tongue around to taste. She was divine, and he toyed with the idea of sneaking into her chambers that night to have his fill as Emma’s tongue worked its own magic on his earlobe.

“How do you want me, Sir Killian?” she whispered, reaching down with one hand to stroke his cock again, a flick of her wrist earning her a grunt as she scraped her teeth against his neck and down to the juncture of his shoulder where she sucked lightly. It was a far contrast to the force she’d bestowed upon his inner thigh just hours before his cavalry had suited up and rode out a week before, leaving a purple bruise just hours before he suited up and left a fortnight ago.

“However you’ll have me, Princess Emma.” 

Turning from him, she bent at the waist, helping Killian lift her skirts. They’d long discovered that a muddied dress was one thing, but convincing the queen Emma had tripped in the forest and ended up with a multitude of leaves and small sticks tangled in her hair was entirely another. Perhaps not the most romantic of positions, but it enabled him to slip in and out of her quickly and at an angle that made the most of the waning time they had together.

The drag of him was exquisite and Emma fought to keep her voice from echoing through the forest until Killian drew her up, back against his chest, and slipped a hand over her mouth. His other hand wandered, finding her breast to be unfettered by a corset and he growled into her ear as he fucked her harder, squeezing the bouncing flesh in his palm.

“We don’t have much time, love.” He spread the fingers that had been keeping her quiet across her upper chest, thumb and fingertips brushing against her collarbones. “Tell me what you need.”

“Your touch. Here.” Emma took his forearm and guided him, placing her fingertips over his as they rubbed her clit together.

“Anything else?”

“You, Killian. Just you.”

This time he let her lean forward against the tree, burying her face in the crook of her elbow as Killian picked up speed, hand slipping off his as the pressure started to build, the angle and depth of his thrusts almost more than she could take. As she began to clamp down on his cock, he pinched her clit and Emma came with a muffled scream of his name. A few more thrusts and Killian followed her over the edge, his own shout louder and less controlled than he’d intended and as they came down from their highs, he heard the unmistakable sound of the royal trumpet in the distance.

Apparently he wasn’t he only one who’d noticed the princess had gone missing. 

They scrambled to right themselves, Emma picking up her cape and refastening the heavy fur as Killian stuffed himself into his pants and pulled his armor back over his head. The fear of getting caught was real and justifiable, and he would have been completely overwhelmed by it had he not caught her watching his hands smooth the front of his trousers in an attempt to hide his still-slightly engorged length with interest. 

He shook his head at his insatiable princess, momentarily distracted. When Emma crashed to the ground wailing, he was caught off guard and moved to kneel by her side just as the palace riders reached the edge of the clearing.

“Sir Killian, you found me! I’m afraid I wandered too far this time and in my haste to return to the castle, I tripped over that log.” She gestured as part of the ruse and Killian turned to see the basket of daffodils overturned, flowers strewn on the ground. A young squire was valiantly attempting to scoop them up and Emma thanked him profusely for his efforts as she attempted to get up and promptly fell once more, feigning a twisted ankle. 

The riders rushed to aid of knight and princess, averting their eyes at the sight of her underskirt torn just enough to reveal an indecent amount of ankle. Killian took the opportunity to scoop Emma up in his arms and carry her across the clearing to his horse, telling her loudly enough for everyone to hear that if she rode sidesaddle, he’d walk the horse back to the castle.

“I’m afraid I may have bumped my head. Would you be so kind as to ride with me, Sir Killian? So that I have something to lean against should I become woozy?”

Jaw clenching, he agreed, swinging up into the saddle and moving back to leave space for Emma, reaching to help the rider who’d lifted her up. In this position, Killian would have to all but hold her in his arms in order to control the reigns and as they started to ride, she collapsed against his chest, playing the part of the injured and overwhelmed princess. He didn’t miss how tightly she had pressed her backside against him and he caught her imperceptibly rolling her hips, making him half-hard once more with none of their companions any the wiser.

“You’re impossible,” he whispered.

Emma answered him so softly that Killian thought he’d misheard, her ear pressed to his beating heart.

“And you love me for it.”


	6. And All This Devotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a CSSV gift from Tumblr. Happy Valentine's Day! xoxo

The knock came at 2:05. It was tentative, barely pulling Killian out of a dreamless sleep and for a moment, he thought he’d imagined it. Fuzzy-brained, he was a second away from chalking it up to a rattling pipe or noise from the street when another knock came, this one more insistent.

 

Tossing the covers off and cursing as he kicked his feet free from the tangled sheet, he padded through the living room, throwing the deadbolt and dramatically pulling the door open, ready to give his untimely visitor hell while wearing nothing more than a pair of boxer briefs and a scowl.

 

The piss and vinegar was short-lived when his eyes fell onto the figure standing in the hallway.

 

Her face was red and blotchy with strands of blonde hair sticking to tear tracks. A cheap diaper bag, stretched to the limits and overflowing, was slung over her shoulder, one of those infant car seats designed for carrying at her feet, the baby inside asleep.

 

Her chin lifted enough to convey some measure of pride, but her eyes wouldn’t rise enough meet his, so when she spoke it was to the dog tags resting on his chest.

 

“We didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

 

****

 

He’d left them. Run off with another woman while she was at work, leaving behind nothing more than a few clothes, an eviction notice and heartbreak. She and the baby had been sleeping in her car for weeks, her job lost due to not having money for a babysitter, moving around to different parks and parking lots to avoid being ticketed for loitering. It was an exhausting way to live at best and dangerous at worst.

 

The final straw had been witnessing a midnight scuffle that turned bloody, the assailant tossing the knife he’d used to stab a man as he ran past her beat up yellow VW, yelling, “If you tell the cops, you’re next, bitch!”

 

The open-palmed smack he’d delivered to her window had both terrified her and woken Henry, who had been sleeping peacefully in her arms. As her son started to wail, so did she, hot tears of frustration, anger and shame flowing with no signs of stopping. She quickly consoled Henry, popping him into his car seat and a pacifier into his mouth, the trilling hum of the car’s engine lulling him back under as she left the park, trying to convince herself she was driving aimlessly when she damn well knew she wasn’t.

 

_“Any time, Swan.”_

_“You’re always welcome.”_

_“Anything you need.”_

 

It would take her two hours and nearly all the gas she had left in her tank to make the drive to find out those words once spoken were true.

 

****

 

“You look tired. When was the last time you had a good night’s sleep?”

 

Emma didn’t have to look up from the steaming mug of tea he’d brought her to know Killian’s eyebrows shot up when she mumbled, “Month, maybe.” The Earl Grey was nowhere near as interesting as her intense stare may have suggested, but it kept her from seeing any pity he be may throwing her way. Aside from an initial sweep to ensure he hadn’t moved and that the man opening the door in his underwear was her old friend from high school and not a random stranger, she really hadn’t looked at him much at all, and she balked when he said her name softly, shaking her head.

 

“It’s okay. It’s been a little rough lately. I just – we need a place for the night, then I’ll figure something out in the morning. I wouldn’t have asked but – Henry.” Voice trailing off, Emma barely caught the sob working its way from the back of her throat, but the teardrop falling into her tea was almost deafening.

 

The couch shifted, the three-foot gap Killian had left between them as if she were a skittish kitten after his trip to the kitchen suddenly filled. He smelled the same, the softness of the ratty tee shirt he’d pulled on hauntingly familiar and both served to undo any strength she had left to keep up a wall.

 

She let her cheek fall onto his shoulder as his arms circled her, stronger and more muscled than they used to be after a stint in the Navy, and Emma let herself melt into his embrace, her shoulders wracking as she cried until she couldn’t cry anymore.

 

****

 

The morning brought two waves of panic that raced like ice water through Emma’s veins.

 

One, she was in a bed, not her car. When the events of the previous night rushed back and she realized Killian must have brought her into the guest bedroom. The second wave came when she leaned over the edge of the mattress expecting to see Henry asleep in his ring of pillows only to find he was gone.

 

Jumping up, Emma raced out of the room, stopping short when she saw two dark heads at the small kitchen table.

 

Henry was in Killian’s lap, happily fisting what looked like Gerber puffs and drooling copiously over the wrist their host had wrapped firmly around the baby’s midsection to keep him upright. Emma pressed a hand to her chest, partly to ground herself after the moment of panic and partly to quell the tug on her heartstrings at the sight of someone acting more fatherly to Henry than his own had a day in his short life.

 

“Morning, Swan. Coffee maker’s over there.” Killian’s head jerked toward the counter next to the sink and the smile on his face faded when she didn’t move. “I hope this is okay.” He looked over at the Gerber canister and then to the crushed, gummy mess in Henry’s hand. “I watch Liam’s kids sometimes and their youngest is right around his age and loves these things.” Killian’s eyes widened comically. “He doesn’t have any of those allergies, does he? Like…soy? Or _gluten_?”

 

As Killian grabbed the canister and scowled at it, Henry kicked his legs and started babbling, giving Emma a toothless grin. He looked happy and she felt more rested than she had since everything had gone to Hades in a hand basket. And coffee did sound good. Maybe a night away from the current wave of bullshit the universe was currently handing them was something they both needed.

 

“Those are fine for Henry. Uh, thanks.” She took the baby from his lap and nudged Killian with her other hip as she walked past him to the Keurig, stopping short when she saw the box of hot chocolate K-cups and a plastic shaker of cinnamon; a throwback to their high school days when everyone they knew gleefully ordered double espressos just because they could while Emma wrinkled her nose and artfully sprinkled spice on the extra tall swirl of whipped cream on her own drink.

 

A lump rose in her throat.

 

Killian had always been too much.

 

_Too nice._

_Too giving._

_Too open._

_Too earnest._

_Too willing to give her his heart._

_Too willing to shoulder her burdens._

It made her want to run.

Haphazardly fixing herself a cup of the breakfast blend coffee in a box next to the hot chocolate and leaving the nostalgia where it sat on the counter, Emma turned and went back to the table, putting down her mug and apologizing when the baby blew a raspberry and what was left of the puffs he’d been hording in his mouth like a hamster landed all over the table. She took a sip of coffee after settling with Henry and looked down at her cup.

 

“Thanks for letting us crash with you. I think we’ll get on the road after I finish this.”

 

To avoid looking at Killian, she busied herself with Henry’s hair. At four months, most of the sides and back had fallen out – totally normal according to the ratty copy of a child development book she’d found at a thrift store while pregnant. The shedding had left him with a tuft of hair on the top of his head and not much else. Emma thought it was adorable and buried her nose in it, dreaming of the day he’d smell like Johnson’s baby shampoo and powder again instead of the industrial soap from gas station bathrooms.

 

“Swan –“

 

She didn’t wait to hear him out. Taking a last gulp of coffee, Emma stood, slung the baby onto her hip and walked back to the guest bedroom, praying to a God she wasn’t sure was even listening that Killian wouldn’t follow her.

 

No such luck.

 

Putting Henry down in his pillow ring for some tummy time, Emma started gathering their meager things. Her stomach churned just thinking about the impending awkwardness of leaving made infinitely worse by the weight of Killian’s stare from where he leaned against the doorway.

 

“Stay.”

 

The casualness of his tone was designed to put her at ease and Emma cursed internally because it almost worked. She faltered just a bit before picking Henry up off the floor and putting him into his car seat.

 

“I can’t. We have to go.”

 

_Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask._

“Go where?”

 

_Dammit._

Her pause gave Killian the opening he needed.

 

“I have a proposal for you.”

 

It wasn’t funny and he didn’t mean it matrimonially but Emma chortled anyway. A few weeks ago she had a fiancé and an apartment and a real family. And now? Now she had a broken heart, a literal mobile home and a son whose father had abandoned him. She didn’t think she had it in her to accept any more proposals.

 

“And for Henry.”

 

Emma’s temper rose in a flash and she stood, turning on Killian.

 

 

****

 

“Don’t use him like that. Don’t use him to get me to accept your charity.”

 

Emma looked him dead in the eye now and, for a split second, Killian pitied the idiot who had left her high and dry should she ever catch up to him. Luckily, he was used to this version of Emma – the one for whom fighting was a natural state – and Killian went on calmly.

 

“I have an empty room.” He gestured with flourish. “I have a flexible schedule. It’s one of the perks of managing the bar instead of being a lackey. That means if someone needed a babysitter while they got a job to get back on their feet, one would be available.”

 

He could see the wheels turning in Emma’s head and Killian wanted to simultaneously roll his eyes over her stubbornness and pride, and high five her for the bone-deep tenacity she had to make her own way. Tossing Henry into the mix was risky and, if he was being honest, a pretty low blow, but desperate times call for dick move measures.

 

“I’d pay you.” She said it quickly and definitively, crossing her arms.

 

“After you’re settled.”

 

_“Jones.”_

_“Swan.”_

She worried her lower lip with her teeth, eyes darting to Henry who had fallen asleep, a pile of smushy baby with his chin resting on his chest.

 

“Just until I can afford a place of my own.”

 

“Of course.” He crossed his own arms and, when he saw her gaze leave his, flexed his pecs to make them jump. Her laugh was short, but he’d take it.

 

“And you don’t buy anything for Henry. He’s my responsibility.”

 

“Understood.” Killian gave her a cheeky grin and saluted.

 

“Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second.” Emma’s head tilted and she grinned back as he bowed dramatically.

 

“I would despair if you did.”

 

****

 

Emma recognized that look - the darting eyes, the spiking adrenaline, the wistfulness, and the fear. The hunger.

 

And as the young girl in the same too-large shoes and the flannel with the worn out elbows reached for the box on the shelf with one hand while fidgeting with the flap on her book bag, Emma pretended to be occupied with one of the toys hanging on Henry’s carrier, Killian in the next aisle over muddling over exotic spices Emma had never even heard of.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the girl stuff the box into her bag – strawberry, her favorite, too – and Emma took a few quick steps to grab the thin wrist before it could clear the dirty khaki canvas.

 

“Take it out and come with me.”

 

The girl, scared into silence, walked beside Emma as she grabbed a few more things, meeting back up with Killian and rolling her eyes as he bent to pick up one of the many jars he was juggling. Before she could say a word, he turned and popped a butt cheek out in her direction.

 

“What the hell are you doing, twerking in the grocery store?” Emma looked down at the proffered ass. “Get that away from me.” She laughed as he bumped it even more in her direction, giving her a salacious grin.

 

“There’s a twenty in my pocket. Take it to cover these.” He held up his treasures. “Who’s this?”

 

He finally noticed the girl standing by Emma’s cart and went back to standing normally once the money had changed ownership.

 

“A friend. Let’s get Henry moving before he realizes we’re standing in one place and loses it.”

 

Heading to the checkout, Killian made quick work of emptying her cart onto the conveyer belt and when he finished loading and moved forward, she nodded to the box of Pop Tarts the girl was holding.

 

“Put them on.”

 

The girl balked, shuffling her feet. A hand with bitten nails came up to tuck a lank of neglected hair behind her ear.

 

“I don’t understand. I thought you were going to turn me in.”

 

“I don’t think you need help getting into trouble. But I’d bet you could use a little help staying out of it. Put ‘em on.”

 

Emma stepped to the register and counted out the cash for her purchase. Money was tight and she was still counting every penny, but two months of working in a bail bonds office afforded her the ability to trade off with Killian when it came to buying the weekly groceries along with taking care of Henry and saving for an apartment. When she heard a gurgling laugh, she looked back to see the girl making a silly face at Henry and cooing at him.

 

Killian caught her eye as Emma shuffled a few things around in the grocery bags, raising an inquisitive eyebrow but she shook her head. Emma thanked the cashier and grabbed few of the bags, watching as the girl rushed to help then blushed and apologizing when Emma bumped into here.

 

“No, those two are yours,” Emma said as the last of the bags came off the carousel. “There’s some bread and peanut butter in there, and some apples. And Pop Tarts.”

 

She started pushing the cart toward the exit, Killian quiet – for once - at her side, and heard the slap of sneakers coming up behind them. They were ten feet past the doors before the girl was able to step in front of her.

 

“I didn’t ask for any of this.”

 

“Look, kid. I’ve been where you are. I get the pride. I get feeling like you have nothing. I even get slipping some things in your pockets just to have something in common with the kids at the next lunch table. And I’ve had somebody help me out before. So…just take it and pay it forward when you can.”

 

The girl nodded, blinking back tears and mumbling a thank you. As she darted off around the store, Emma looked at Killian. His eyes were soft, searching her face and he shook his head slightly as he stared at her.

 

“Just who are you, Swan?

 

It sounded like a loaded question and coupled with that look – the one he’d been giving her for months when he doesn’t think she’s looking as she rocked Henry to sleep or they fought over the small sink in the bathroom in the mornings – it was too much.

 

Whipping her ponytail over her shoulder, she started toward her car, tossing a flippant, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” back to where Killian was standing.

 

As she turned her back and walked away, she could have sworn she heard him say, “Perhaps I would.”

 

****

 

Killian knew he’d had his share of women. Probably more than his share. And he knew from the long-distance relationship that hadn’t worked out when he was in the Navy to the string of one-night-stands since that “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” was an apt description on occasion. That he was prepared for, learning as a sixth grader watching his older brother navigate the early waters of dating and getting an earful over the phone for stupidly breaking up with one girl to ask out her friend.

 

What he hadn’t known about, and was currently getting a crash course in as Henry wailed uncontrollably, was that hell also hath no fury like a teething baby.

 

He swayed in the living room with an armful of sweaty, angry baby going through the list of remedies in his head.

 

Henry had chucked the teething ring behind the sofa the second it had thawed and no longer provided icy relief. The Tylenol Killian had carefully measured out and given him couldn’t touch the pain from cutting four teeth at the same time. Neither could the Orajel he’d massaged on Henry’s gums. Even his favorite – a slice of cold celery to chew on that was carefully monitored to ensure he didn’t bite of a piece and choke – was flung aside in favor of screaming.

 

Two seconds away from calling Emma on the chance the only thing that Henry really wanted was his mom, Killian’s brain floated above the deafening sounds of crying and offered a last-ditch idea.

 

As he walked down the hallway to Emma’s room – it hadn’t been called the guest room since the second night she’s stayed – chatting to Henry over his bellows.

 

“Alright, kiddo. Your mom is working overtime trying to catch that skip, so we’re doing to give this a shot.” He went to Emma’s dresser, sparsely decorated with a few garage sale and Dollar Store finds, and picked up a necklace and slipped it over his own head.

 

****

 

Counting the cash in the envelope twice before letting herself believe it, Emma’s hand smacked down onto her steering wheel.

 

“BOOM!”

 

She’d done it. Six months since the man Killian had officially dubbed “That Asshole” had left her and she’d knocked on Killian’s door in the middle of the night with twelve dollars to her name, she’d done it. There was finally enough money to get an apartment and even furnish it if she bargain-shopped.

 

The grin on her face stretched from ear to ear and, after a long night of getting dolled up for her “date” with a skip who’d tried to run on her and cried like a little bitch when she gave chase and tackled him to the pavement, she felt like celebrating.

 

The time on her phone said she had fifteen minutes to hit the liquor store before they closed, so she drove as fast as a pair of 6” honey heels would allow. Ignoring the double take the employee did when his last customer of the night came in wearing a skin-tight dress and FMPs, Emma went straight to the small section of champagne. Looking over the labels, she threw up her hands when she realized she had no idea what to get. Eighty dollars was still a bit steep for her and the only brands she recognized were in that price range. And what the hell was Brut?

 

Scrubbing her hands over her face, Emma huffed and reached out for a pretty (and affordable) bottle of something pink, reminding herself she needed to get home.

 

****

 

Her chest seized up the minute she stepped through the door, her purse and the bottle of champagne left behind on a small table as she quietly kicked off her shoes.

 

They were both asleep sprawled on the couch, Henry’s face squished against a faded Navy tee shirt, his chubby hand clutching the amber teething necklace that was around Killian’s neck. The baby was only wearing a diaper and Emma could see that his hair – long grown in from his four-month-old Mohawk – was lightly matted with dried sweat. There was a puddle soaking Killian’s shirt near Henry’s mouth and that – along with the burp clothes they were using to deal with the copious amounts of baby drool, discarded sticks of celery, a tube of Orajel and the infant Tylenol on the coffee table – painted a clear picture of how their night had gone.

 

Emma drank in the sight; two dark heads, tandem soft snores. She’d found them on the couch like that more than once coming home after a late night at work.

 

Her boys.

 

Her… _loves?_

 

The word flew into her head and she gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. She backed up until her knees hit the chair by the window and she sank down into it.

 

Before she could even start figuring out what the hell it all meant, Henry whimpered at the noise she’d made. Emma started to stand but the large hand on his back started to move and a soothing whisper of, “Shhh, shhh, shhh” quieted him back down.

 

“I hope your night was better than ours.” Killian’s whisper was rough but she could see him smile as he lifted his chin up and over the top of Henry’s head to look at her.

 

Swallowing hard, Emma pushed _the word_ down and plastered a smile on her face.

 

“I had to dress like a Kardashian hitting up the number one paparazzi-staked gas station in Beverly Hills to reel in a skip who ran on me anyway.”

 

Killian made a show of looking her up and down, tongue tracing over his upper lip.

 

“Dumb as hell on his part, but go on – wait, is that blood??” He braced a hand behind Henry’s neck and swung his legs off the couch, holding the baby tightly to his chest as he sat up and craned his neck to look at the road rash decorating her leg.

 

“Yeah, but I caught him.” She couldn’t keep the pure satisfaction out of her voice. “And,” she took a dramatic pause for effect, “I scored a commission. Do you know what that means?” Emma propped her elbow on a knee and dropped her chin into her hand, leaning forward and waggling her eyebrows at Killian. “It means that I finally have the money to move out.”

 

“Oh.” He paused, an unreadable look on his face before it brightened. “That’s great, Swan. I’m happy for you. For you both.” His chin dropped as he pressed a kiss to the top of Henry’s head. “This one’s had one hell of an evening. Do you think he’d stay asleep if I put him down?”

 

Crossing over to the couch, Emma leaned over and picked up the hand not holding the necklace, raised it a few inches and let go.

 

“I guess we have our answer,” Killian said as they watched it drop with no startle reflex. Emma reached for Henry as Killian stood. “No, no, I’ll take him. You tend to that gash on your leg before you get gangrene and it falls off.”

 

They peeled off in the hallways with Emma giving Henry a kiss, breathing in the scent of baby shampoo and muttering, “You’re so dramatic” to Killian’s back as he went to put Henry to bed. She nearly walked into the doorframe when he stage whispered, “But you love me” in retort and she couldn’t get into the bathroom and close the door fast enough before almost hyperventilating.

 

Leaning over the sink, she splashed cold water on her face as if the flow from the faucet could drown the thoughts racing through her head.

 

_But you love me._

 

She didn’t believe in fate. Or magic. Or fairy tales. Or that orphans found happy endings with deliciously pretty men with big hearts and blue eyes. But the tiny part of her that wasn’t walled up and jaded wanted to believe it was a sign. That’s she’d just thought that she loved him not five minutes before said the same thing.

 

The first aid kit under the sink was tidy and, of course, fully stocked. Emma squeezed her eyes shut when she saw a bundle of Elmo Band-Aids; damn sure Killian hadn’t bought them for himself. But he’d always been like that.

 

He had always been there. Even when she didn’t want him to be. Even when she’d run, scared of all of the devotion he’d always had in his eyes when they were in school, and gone to live a life with someone else. Someone who had never promised to give her the world so she wouldn’t be disappointed when he didn’t. Because nobody ever had.

 

He was even there when she’d shown up with that other man’s baby at his door. But was that it? Gratitude and a sense of obligation disguised as love? With a bone-deep, ridiculously strong attraction contributing to it?

 

She felt like they’d been dancing around something for months.

 

The first sign – aside from his piercing gaze - was the unwillingness to talk about why neither of them had gone on dates since she and Henry moved in. Emma’s hasty excuse made sense; she was concentrating on herself and her son, not looking for a rebound. Killian abruptly got up to get another beer and when he’d come back to the table, the subject was pointedly changed before she could press him.

 

Then there was the morning she’d walked in on him while he was getting out of the shower. Exhausted from a rough night with Henry, she’d pushed the door to the bathroom open without a thought and got an eyeful. Lean muscles and rivulets of water running down his belly to where he’d managed to loosely clutch a hastily grabbed towel over himself. _Mostly._

 

The visual had stayed with her. Wet hair slicked back, making the curve of his cheekbones more prominent. The v-cut just inside his hipbones. And, as her eyes traveled down, the length of him along his thigh just barely hidden by the towel.

 

Emma had avoided him for a week until he reeled her in on Saturday night with spag bol, a moderately priced bottle of Pinot Grigio loosening her tongue. She brought up _that night_. The one their senior year where they’d kissed messily on a camping trip, pouring three years of _what ifs_ and _maybes_ into a stolen moment in the trees. It had scared her and she ran without looking back. The morning after she clumsily tripped down memory lane, she wondered if Killian had the same stunned, slightly hurt look on his face then as he did when she drunkenly leaned in four years later over empty pasta dishes and tried to kiss him. He’d dodged, bussed her cheek and walked her to her bedroom before going on to his own.

 

Since that night, she’d been careful. Careful to not lead on, although she wasn’t quite sure who she was worried about leading on – him or herself.

 

****

 

A by-product of his military days had Killian hanging Emma’s purse up on a hook by the door and lining up her discarded shoes next to his on the mat while she was cleaning herself up in the bathroom. He’d seen scores of women in heels just like that but none could have held a candle next to her when she’d come out of her room, the stilettos paired with a red dress that made his head swim and the bulge in his pants twitch. She was unbelievably sexy and that was just the surface. Her toughness, intelligence, tenacity and kindness shone just as bright as the cascade of blonde hair and ass that wouldn’t quit.

 

He’d been trying his hardest to not let his brain go there. For all of her strength, Emma carried a certain degree of fragility, and he didn’t want to push her or, even worse, think that she owed him something for letting her and Henry stay with him.

 

They’d had a connection from the day she’d shown up in his English class halfway through sophomore year, all darting eyes and fidgeting fingers worrying the hem of her shirt as Mrs. Wolfe instructed her to tell the class about herself. It wasn’t until the following year during a rare moment of candor that he found out she wasn’t a military brat whose Naval father had been moved around a lot.

 

Emma had popped up in their town as a ward of the state, her transience a byproduct of bad foster homes and a system that had never worked in her favor. He supposed the pretend life she’d made up for herself was part of the reason he’d joined the Navy; a fool’s hope that he could be the stable home she so desperately wanted and that the rigidity of the military could rid him of his youthful, rakish ways.

 

She’d kissed him the night he told her he was shipping out, all teeth and tongue with a sand dune at his back and an order for him to not follow her when she’d had her fill. Killian always wondered if she’d succumbed to a moment of weakness or if the news he was leaving gave her the strength to let him in, even just momentarily, because the safety net of him leaving made it easier. Either way it had left him pining, the only reprieve a relationship with another sailor that started out strong but fizzled when she was reassigned and the distance was too hard to bridge.

 

Emma herself had moved on quickly from their shared moment, moving in with someone who had graduated a few years before them the ink on her diploma had dried. Killian stayed single for a while, scratching the itch whenever the need arose, but the drive to find someone else wasn’t there until news of Emma’s engagement hit his email inbox by way of a mutual friend. The universe was telling him to move on and he did, sending a congratulatory Hallmark card that gushed with a sincerity he didn’t really feel.

 

It was harder to be bitter when word of her pregnancy reached halfway across the world. He was happy for Emma and the chance for her to have the family she deserved. By the time Henry was born, Killian was out of the Navy and working at an upscale bar in Boston, raking in tip money thanks to his looks and the bottle flipping tricks he’d perfected on the long nights stationed overseas. He could well afford a decent place and a one-bedroom bachelor pad loft was at the top of his list until he went to sign a lease and balked, telling the rental agent he really needed a second bedroom and refusing to allow himself to dig deep to ask himself why.

 

Killian scowled at the bottle of champagne Emma had left on the table when she walked in, fisting a hand through his hair. Having her and Henry pack up and leave didn’t feel like something to celebrate.

 

“You can’t will the cork to pop out on its own.”

 

She startled him and Killian let out an inventive string of expletives. He’d been lost in thought so long he hadn’t heard her leave the bathroom and go change. She was wearing a tank top and pajama pants, the curls she’d sprayed into submission before her “date” brushed out. The heavy fake eyelashes were gone, as was any stitch of makeup. Suddenly exhausted, his thoughts draining him more than a night with a teething toddler ever could, he gestured toward the bottle.

 

“Do you mind if we save this for tomorrow night? It should chill anyway.” When Emma nodded, he picked it up and took it to the refrigerator, walking back toward her. “See you in the morning, Swan.”

 

His head swam as he headed down the short hallway. A box hadn’t so much as been packed and Killian’s stomach was churning. When he passed the door to her room, he felt fingers on his. Jaw clenching, he closed his eyes for a second before turning, looking down at Emma’s pinkie curled around his own.

 

“Thank you. For everything.”

 

Killian swallowed hard and nodded, not quite sure what to say.

 

 

Their fingers moved, first hers and then his, until they were completely laced together. Killian was so focused on the sensation of her palm against his that he missed the fact Emma was on her tiptoes and leaning in.

 

The feel of her lips on the corner of his mouth took him by surprise and his first reaction was to back away like the last time when nostalgia served as a chaser for a few glasses of liquid courage.

 

She wasn’t having it. Her other hand came up, fingernails lightly scratching his scalp as her fingers anchored in his hair, pulling him back toward her. The kiss was sweet and Killian savored it, careful to only take what she was giving and not ask for more. It felt like a metaphor for their entire relationship, friendship – whatever the hell it was. When it was over, he pressed his forehead against hers, more breathless than he should be after a kiss that bordered on chaste, and when her arms circled around his back, he dropped his head onto her shoulder.

 

“I wish I could stay.”

 

Heart leaping into his throat, Killian drew back.

 

“You can. I mean…not because…it has nothing to do with,” he gestured between them, “whatever this was just now. But you can stay. You and Henry. With me.”

 

_Smooth, Jones. Just babble in her face._

 

Her fingers smoothed over the nervous twitch in his jaw.

 

“I know. I know you’d let us. And I lo – I appreciate you for that. But I feel like I have to do this. Go out on my own. To prove to myself I can.”

 

Huffing out a breath, Killian rubbed her upper arms and smiled.

 

“Your heart’s desire, Swan. I promise that’s all I want you to have.”

 

“You actually mean that, don’t you?” She sounded…shocked.

 

“Does that surprise you?”

 

Leaning in once more, Emma kissed him again; the only difference between this one and the last a tiny flick of her tongue against his bottom lip before she drew back.

 

“Not anymore.”

 

****

 

The knock came at 11:15. It was tentative, barely pulling Killian out of a dreamless sleep and for a moment, he thought he’d imagined it. Fuzzy-brained, he was a second away from chalking it up to a rattling pipe or noise from the street when another knock came, this one more insistent.

 

Tossing the covers off and cursing as he kicked his feet free from the tangled sheet, he padded through the living room, throwing the deadbolt and dramatically pulling the door open, ready to give his untimely visitor hell while wearing nothing more than a pair of boxer briefs and a scowl.

 

The piss and vinegar was short-lived when his eyes fell onto the figure standing in the hallway.

 

Emma was in a sundress, a picnic basket at her feet. Before he could say anything, a bundle of energy charged at his legs and Killian bent to swoop Henry up into a fireman’s carry as he backed up to let Emma in, carefully dipping his head to kiss her so Henry’s gleefully kicking feet wouldn’t hit her.

 

Six months had passed since the day Killian had helped Emma pack up the truck she borrowed from one of the bondsmen at her work and moved her and Henry into their own place. It had taken minutes for him to miss them terribly. It had taken another few days for him to work up the courage to call and ask her out on a proper date. Since then, his weekend days were filled with petting zoos, trips to the park, picnics by the water and running Henry ragged.

 

On the nights neither of them worked, they made up for lost time.

 

The first time they were together, they hadn’t even made it to the bed. Lying in a tangle of sweaty limbs, Killian had loudly proclaimed the rug burn was worth it and Emma had shushed him by rolling him onto his back for round two.

 

Today was a picnic day and Killian squinted at the clock as he twisted his torso to swing Henry to and fro.

 

“Am I late or are you early?”

 

Setting the basket down, Emma walked up to them, ducking at the last moment to avoid a kick to the head, and reached her arms up toward Henry.

 

“We’re early. Too early? I should have called.”

 

The look on her face was comical and even though a few more hours of sleep would have been nice after a rare fight at the bar during last call drew blood and a few arrests, keeping Killian there until nearly seven, he didn’t mind the wake up.

 

“It’s fine, Swan.” He hunched his shoulders and let her take Henry.

She settled her son on her hip and kissed his flushed cheek.

 

“Come on, kid. Let’s let Killian get dressed.”

 

“Killy dress,” Henry agreed, clapping his hands and they both laughed.

 

“I would pay so much money to see that – EEP!” Emma jumped as Killian passed and flicked his hand back to swat her ass.

 

****

 

A quick shower and the decision not to shave had him ready to go in no time. When he came back to the living room, Emma was sitting on the couch with Henry in her lap, a sippy cup of what looked like apple juice in his hand. Two champagne flutes and an open bottle were on the coffee table in front of her.

 

His eyes darted from the bottle to the kitchen. It was the same brand as the one she’d bought the night she’d told him they were moving out. The one that they’d never opened and had been in his refrigerator for the last six months.

 

“Come sit with us.” Emma waved him over and handed him one of the flutes. “I’d like to propose a toast.” She reached for the other one and held it aloft. “To us. Awwwww.” She giggled when Killian surged forward and planted a smacking kiss on her cheek, and made a show of pretending to be disgusted and wipe it off. “Gross! Like I was saying…um, so Henry and I have something to ask you.”

 

The glass she held trembled just a little, and the smile on her face faded. Before he could ask her what was wrong, Emma took a breath and sat up a little straighter.

 

“Jesus, I’m horrible at this,” she muttered and cleared her throat. “We wanted to know if you would move in with us.”

 

Killian was all too aware how monumental a moment this was. Both for them and for Emma. She was inviting him _in_.

 

Into her life. Into her space. Into her _home_.

 

He looked at her, tears pricking at his eyes, nodding his head effusively in the affirmative because he was too choked up to say yes. She was laughing through her own tears and held up her glass for him to clink since neither one of them could speak.

 

“Sad, Mama?” Henry was looking up at Emma from his spot on her lap and making an exaggerated frowny face. Those Baby Einstein books Killian gave him for Christmas were really paying off. “Sad?”

 

Killian put an arm around her and drew them both into a hug, kissing her hair and resting his chin on the top of her head.

 

“No, Henry. Mama’s happy.”


End file.
